


"He won't eat his vegetables.  I'm afraid for him."

by TWDObsessive



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Broccoli, Family, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 08:16:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWDObsessive/pseuds/TWDObsessive
Summary: Just a short goofy one-shot that I haven't stopped thinking about since Daryl reported to Michonne on the radio that R.J. wasn't eating his vegetables.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 9
Kudos: 117





	"He won't eat his vegetables.  I'm afraid for him."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to LOTR for the quick beta!

“But I ate _some_,” R.J. insists.

“You ate zero. I put three pieces of broccoli on that plate and all three are still there.”

_Hell, with that mop of curls and that stubborn smile, I coulda been looking at the original Rick Grimes’s ‘stead of his insolent offspring. In fact, I think I had this exact conversation about broccoli with his old man._

“You know, your daddy and I been so hungry before we hadda eat whatever we could get our hands on. That includes possum, owl, worms, dog, squirrel, deer, mushrooms that turned out not to be a good idea, a stale Kit-Kat and whole lotta damn broccoli.”

“My dad liked broccoli?” R.J. asks. Ain’t damn good at lying under normal circumstances, but certainly not with Rick’s kid. I shook my head in defeat. “No, alright? He didn’t like broccoli. But he ate it, You know why?”

“Why?” 

“Cause I damn well told him to, which is the same reason you’re gonna eat it. You wanna get scurvy?”

“What’s scurvy?’

“I don’t know,” I say as I search for an answer in frustration. “It’s something you don’t want to get.”

I heard the door slam and a set of little footsteps making their way to the kitchen. 

“Where the hell you been?” I ask Judith.

“Killin’ walkers. Why?”

“Told you dinner was at five.”

Judy shrugged off her katana and climbed onto her chair, surveying the dinner table. 

“He’s not gonna eat that broccoli, y’know,” she said.

“Oh yes he is.”

“Oh no I’m not!” R.J. piped in.

“Look,” I finally say. “Your mamma put me in charge while she’s gone. That means you do what I say.”

“Mom doesn’t make me eat broccoli,” R.J. says.

“I find that hard to believe,” I counter. The things I do for Rick’s damn family. Still ain’t never found his body so’s I’mma still go on and believe he might be out there and if he comes home to a kid don’t eat his vegetables, that’s on me.

“I got an idea,” I say, thinking maybe bribery ain’t illegal no more on account of no laws. For every piece of broccoli you eat, I’ll tell ya a story about your dad.

“Oh! That’s a good deal, R.J.,” Judith says excitedly, finally offering some actual help.

R.J. narrows his eyes at me and it’s kinda like my move. Poor sap’s gonna end up takin’ after me if Michonne keeps running ‘round like she does. 

“Okay. Story first,” he negotiates.

I lean back in my chair tryna think of something worthwhile. They all done heard all the good ones so I knows they just wanted an average regular old day-in-the-life type story.

“Okay, so one time, me and yer dad was out searching the woods…”

“What were you looking for?” Judith asks.

“This ain’t no interactive story, asskicker. I tell it and you listen.” 

“Anyways,” I continued. “We was walking through the woods lookin’ for water. There’s about twelve of us then, out on the road, dejected, depressed. Just lost some people we cared about. You may not know this...but your old man didn’t know how to walk quiet in the woods. ‘S like he goes out of his way to find every dry leaf to step on and every rock to trip over.” I’m already thinking this whole thing was a bad idea because even after six years I’m ‘bout tear up when I think about him.

“So we don’t find no water and we go back up to the group and a storm’s a’ coming. Bad one. Sky looked like the nine circles of Hell swirling together. I’d found an old barn nearby and led everyone there, and before we know it the storm strikes. Winds a’whippin’, lightnin’ and thunder and then we see the dead trying to break down the doors.

“Oh my God!” Judith said.

“What happened!?” R.J. asked. “Did my dad save the day?!”

I rolled my eyes. We all been telling him his dad’s a hero way too much and I know I been just as guilty of doin’ it as everyone else. 

“Man alone can’t beat nature, kid. But together, we pushed against that door holding back the dead, barely able to hear each other over the speeding train sound of a tornado and I’m pushing ‘gainst that door and your old man squeezes in beside me pushing right along with the rest of us. We all thought that was it. Curtains. The end. We was never gonna make it. And your old man looks over to me. Had ‘em blue eyes like Jude. And you know what he says?

R.J. and Judith were both spellbound waiting to hear their father’s words.

“He said, ‘Daryl. If I don’t make it...please make sure my kids eat their vegetables.’”

Judith’s forehead hit the table as she was likely trying not to roll her eyes so hard they fell out their sockets.

“Really?” R.J. asked. “He said that?”

I try like Hell not to laugh because this kid’s definitely got Rick’s naivety.

“Just eat the broccoli,” Judith said and I watched proudly as he chewed and swallowed one of the stalks without his overly dramatic fake gagging.

“Okay” he said after washing down the despised food with a long glug of water. “I’m ready for the next story.”

I lean back and search my memory banks for another story. There are so many moments I could tell them about. Genuine moments without added details about broccoli. The few years of my life I had with Rick in it were the best of my life, even though the dead was walkin’ during it. 

“We had a fight once. Me and your daddy,” I said and both children looked at me wide eyed. 

“You were best friends,” Judith exclaimed.

I shrugged. “Sometimes friends fight. Member when Gracie wouldn’t let you play with that Play Doh?”

She nodded.

“Friends now again, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” I begin, as R.J. leans on his elbows, ready to be teleported away to another taie about the father he’s never met. 

“So one thing leads to another, right? And your dad and me end up in a hole.”

“Wait. A hole?” Judith asks.

“Yeah.”

“Like a hole in the ground?”

“Yeah. What don’t you understand about a hole?”

“Well,” R.J’ pipped in. “How’d it get there?”

“How’d what get there? The hole?” I ask, getting confused.

“Yeah. Like there aren’t just giant holes all over the place.”

I take a deep breath and remind myself that children are supposed to always ask these stupid questions. It’s just the way it works. Hell, I even remember Carl questioning any damn thing I told him.

“That’s not the point. For whatever reason, there was a hole and we both fell in and couldn’t get out. And that was right in the middle of us arguing about...y’know just some fundamental community rules and such. 

“So there we are having some heated words. Like I said, friends can argue, y’know?”

Both kids nodded.

“So’s all these walkers start falling into the hole and I look him in the eye and before shit gets real I tell him, ‘I’d die for you, y’know. I’d die for your kids.’”

Judith and R.J. were rapt with attention. 

“And that ain’t no bullshit. I would,” I say as I look Judith dead in the eyes.

“And I get my two knives and start offing some ‘a them fallin’ walkers and he’s crushing skulls against rocks and when we have a second between kills he looks at me and says. “I know you’d die for them, brother. But would you make sure they eat their vegetables?”

Well it worked. Judith left the table exasperated with her hands thrown up in the air and R.J. ate the last two pieces just so he could go play with someone that wasn’t being so heavy-handed with the stories. I lean back in my chair, satisfied that I nailed it. Broccoli eaten. Kids up in bed. Rick would be amazed that the feisty redneck he first met was now like a Mr. Mom to his children. 

I walk out to the porch and Dog comes over to me and curls up by my feet. I’ve told Dog a lot of stories about Rick. He’s a good listerner and don’t ask no dumb questions like them kids. Still talk about Rick near every day. But like I said. Ain’t never found no body. He’s out there. Somewhere.

I light up a smoke and look out at the quarter moon in the sky. “Rick your kids exhaust me, man,” I say out loud. I talk to him like that sometimes. “So wherever you are...you need to find your way back to us. We’re still all here waiting for you. _I’m_ waiting for you. Ain’t never gonna lose hope.


End file.
